


'Twas the night before...

by Em_Jaye



Series: The Long Way Around [25]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Chrismukkah, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Smut, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Post-Canon Fix-It, Sex, Slow Burn, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:14:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21655837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Em_Jaye/pseuds/Em_Jaye
Summary: Woody Allen once said, 'If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans." With that in mind, Darcy had to wonder if there was anyone who could make God laugh quite like Steve Rogers.1970-1973Christmas Eve
Relationships: Darcy Lewis & Steve Rogers, Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers
Series: The Long Way Around [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1402126
Comments: 205
Kudos: 327





	1. 1970

**Author's Note:**

> Just a fun little experiment I did, wherein I had wanted to write about their Christmases together, but there wasn't space in what was already posted. So I gathered up the ideas and put them here in this little look-back fic. This is a 4 part series so I thought it'd be fun to post one part each Monday until Christmas. (A way to balance out the week if you're reading my Christmas Carol-inspired fic, I suppose, as those updates will be posted on Fridays <3) 
> 
> Anywho, I had fun remembering what these two idiots were like before they fell in love and I hope you'll enjoy it too.

_Christmas Eve  
1970_

Darcy was sitting on the floor in front of the oven when she heard the front door open. By now, she could recognize all the noise Steve made when he came home from work. She heard him loosen the laces on his work boots and kick them off, hang his coat on the rack and drop his keys in the dish by the door. It was only another minute before he walked past the kitchen and stopped. He backed up and popped his head around the doorway. “Darcy?”

She looked up from her place on the floor and smiled. “Hi.”

He looked amused. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure my cookies don’t burn.”

Steve nodded. “You’re making cookies?”

“Uh huh,” she returned her attention to the globs of oatmeal raisin dough that were slowly flattening into cookies. “This oven is like, part-refrigerator, part-kiln, so if I don’t sit here and watch them the entire time, they might burn.” She squinted at the corner of the pan, wondering if rotating them halfway through their bake time might make them more even. “Are you hungry?”

“For cookies?”

She glanced up with another smile. “Once these are done—y’know, assuming I don’t blink and burn them to a crisp—I made macaroni and cheese. The good kind. With the crunchy-munchy breadcrumbs on top.” She lifted her eyebrows. “Sound like something you’d be into?”

“Uh, yeah,” he said, looking surprised. “That sounds good.”

“Cool,” she nodded and turned back to the oven. “You should take a shower,” she said. “You smell like…chemicals.”

He laughed. “Thanks, Darcy.”

“I’m just being a friend,” she reminded. “A friend who made cookies and macaroni and cheese.”

Her cookies did not burn and by the time Steve had taken a shower and washed the smell of Freon out of his hair, the macaroni was bubbling and made the whole apartment smell like garlic and butter and cheese.

He came back into the kitchen just as she was wedging her spatula under a corner piece. He eyed the lumpy rectangle-shaped package wrapped in newspaper on the table. It was tied with a red bow and had a small tag with his name. “What’s this?” he asked cautiously.

Darcy glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “For you.” She returned to her macaroni excavation and left him to pick it up. He slid a nail beneath the taped seam and moved back the paper to reveal a hand-knit navy blue scarf.

“What—um—” he looked up, confused, as she turned from the counter and set two plates of steaming pasta on the table.

“Merry Christmas, Steve,” she said as she sat down and began eating without preamble.

She glanced up and watched him look at the calendar and then back down to the scarf in his hands. “I…didn’t realize it was Christmas Eve,” he admitted, looking flustered. “I don’t…I don’t have anything for you.”

Her shoulder moved in a shrug and she smiled again. “That’s okay. I had a feeling you weren’t keeping track of holidays.” She watched him struggle with this realization for another long moment before she rolled her eyes. “It’s just a scarf, Steve,” she reminded. “It only cost me about a dollar to make.”

“I know,” he said, “but I still feel bad—”

“Oh, stop,” she waved his guilt away. “But please sit and eat this mac and cheese because frankly, I’ve outdone myself.”

A familiar half-smile twitched at the corner of his lips and he sat down across from her. He set his gift carefully to one side, out of the way of the food. After a few bites, he looked up again and swallowed. “You really have,” he agreed. “It’s great.”

“Right?” she grinned.

They each ate two more helpings before Darcy declared herself too full and piled the oatmeal raisin cookies on another plate which she brought out to the living room while Steve put the leftovers away and washed the dishes. She’d opened the paper to the programming guide. “So, there’s good news and bad news,” she said as he dropped into the arm chair across from her. “Which do you want first?”

He frowned in consideration. “Bad news?”

“You’re so predictable,” she said, shaking her head. “So, the bad news is that we’re still in 1970 and not 1945 or 2013 like either of us want to be.”

Steve nodded. “But there’s good news?”

“Yes!” she declared and got to her feet. “We have really good oatmeal raisin cookies—you’re welcome, by the way,” she added, motioning for him to help himself to the plate she’d built. “And the Peanuts Christmas special was made five years ago so we can watch it tonight in about five minutes and things might suck a little less.”

He smiled as she made her way across the living room to turn on the small TV she’d rescued from someone’s donation pile a few weeks ago. “I’ve actually never seen that.”

Darcy stopped and turned back around. “I’m sorry, are you kidding?”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

“Never?” she clarified. “Not even bits and pieces?”

“I know,” he held up his hands. “I haven’t lived,” he said, sounding as if he was awaiting judgement. “I’m so out of touch.”

“This is so exciting!” Darcy exclaimed before she turned on the black and white set. “You’re in for such a treat—it’s so delightful!” She settled back on the couch and tucked her feet beneath her, a cookie in hand. “When I was little, my sister and I used to try to find the saddest, Charlie-Browniest tree in the lot for Chrismukkah and turn it into something gaudy and glorious.”

His cautious smile was back. “Did you say Chrismukkah?”

She nodded. “It’s what we celebrated when Christmas and Hanukkah happened at the same time, like this year.” Before Steve could respond, she shushed him and pointed to the screen. “Prepare to be delighted.”

To her relief, Steve was, in fact, delighted by the Peanuts Christmas special. She kept glancing at him from the corner of her eye to make sure she hadn’t oversold it. Judging by the sentiment he was trying to hide, she had a feeling she hadn’t.

“Do I know my nostalgic cartoons or what?” she asked when the credits appeared.

He smiled into the hand on which he’d rested his chin. “No, you were right. That was…delightful.”

She reached for another cookie, pleased when he did the same. “So, what’s Christmas like in 1945?” she asked, settling back into her corner of the couch. “What are you going to do when you’re back?”

He opened his mouth to respond and closed it again. “Y’know…I’m not sure. I guess that depends on a lot of things.”

“Seems like it’d be a pretty raucous holiday season,” she mused. “All post-war and everything.”

“From what I’ve read,” he shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so.” Before she could read into his hesitance to offer any detailed plans, he asked, “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“It was almost Chrismukkah season when we accidentally dragged you into this mess,” he reminded. “What’s the plan for when you get back?”

“Oh,” she nodded. “I had a plane ticket back to Philly for Thanksgiving, and then I was definitely going to let my mom talk me into coming home again for winter break.” She smiled. “I’m going to meet my nephew, Barrett, and squish his perfect, chubby cheeks,” she clapped her fingers like pincers. “And even though he’s too small and squishy to really enjoy it, I’m going to take him to the Parkway Central Library and let him smell all the books and soak up as much knowledge as he can. And then I’m going to make Jane come to spend the holiday with us so she’s not by herself at Culver—” she stopped herself. “It’s going to be good.”

He smiled softly. “Sounds like it.”

It wasn’t much later, but with a belly full of pasta and cookies that had Darcy feeling drowsier than usual, that she bid Steve a good night and patted his shoulder as she passed him on the way to her room. She stopped in the hallway and turned back around to hang in the doorway to the living room. “Hey,” she said, catching his attention from the pensive look he’d been aiming at the window. He looked up and she smiled. “All things considered,” she shrugged. “I’ve had worse Christmas Eves.”

“Yeah,” he smiled back. “Me too.”

“Good night, Steve.”

“Night.”

The next morning, Darcy awoke to a sheet of paper slipped beneath her door. She picked it up, confused and read the note printed neatly in all caps in the top corner. _Happy Chrismukkah – Steve._

No less confused, she turned the paper over and felt her breath swept away for a moment. It was a pencil drawing of the Parkway Central Library in Philadelphia, exactly the way she remembered it. The grand arches and columns, the banners and giant windows she used to sit beneath and feel swallowed up by the books and building and the whole city at once. She held it carefully, not wanting to smudge any detail, no matter how small and set it on the edge of her bed. Blinking back the rush of nostalgia that seeing her favorite place had sent stinging behind her nose and eyes, Darcy opened her door.

She grinned at the undeniable smell of slightly burnt scrambled eggs. A sign that Steve was making breakfast.


	2. 1971

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the sweetness on the opening chapter! I could just eat you all up, I love you so.
> 
> Also, if you're skipping around or just want want a little refresher, I recommend you read the fic 'Perfectly Disrespectful' before you read this chapter. Otherwise you might be a little confused.
> 
> *blows all the kisses*

_Christmas Eve_

_19_ _71_

“Darcy!” Steve realized as soon as he’d spoken that barking her name at her wasn’t the best idea, given the way she was perched on the very edge of the sofa in her socks with one foot on the edge of the windowsill, stretching toward the corner of the room.

“What?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder in a way that made her sway. The string of colorful bulbs in her hand clacked together loudly as she righted herself. “Don’t scare me like that,” she chided, shaking her head as she returned her focus to the corner she was trying to reach.

“More Christmas lights?” he asked, shrugging out of his wet coat and scarf.

“He says, like that’s a bad thing,” Darcy narrated and, to his dismay, rose up on her toes.

“It is if you end up hanging yourself along with them,” he countered, crossing the room quickly to stand beneath her.

“Well gimme a boost and preemptively save my life,” she said mildly. “Actually,” she looked down at him and tilted her head to one side. “If you just like, hug my legs and step about a foot to the left, I’ll be able to reach this no problem.”

Steve sighed and shook his head. He wrapped an arm around Darcy’s knees and offered his other hand to help her steady herself as he lifted her off the couch. He couldn’t see her without looking directly up the sweater that was brushing against his face, so he kept his eyes firmly on the ground until he heard something that sounded successful and Darcy squeezed his hand.

“Thanks friend,” she said cheerfully when he set both of her feet safely back on the couch. She hopped down to stand next to him and looked around the room. “Doesn’t that look better?”

He followed her gaze and admired the double strand of colorful lights she’d strung along the ceiling and around each window. “It certainly looks more festive.”

“We need some festive, Steve,” Darcy insisted firmly. “It’s been raining for an entire month and my brain has stopped producing serotonin.” She pointed to the lights. “I have to make do with store-bought.”

He smiled. “They look great,” he assured her.

She glowed. “Thank you,” she said before her eyes fell to the clock and her smile dropped away. “And you’re late, by the way. You said you were only working until three.”

“I _was_ only working until three,” he said moving out of the way so she could slide around him to head back to the kitchen. “But Luis missed his bus to the airport so I gave him a ride so he could make his flight.” With work growing slimmer and slimmer each week, they’d all been scraping whatever minutes they could onto each paycheck. His scrawny crew mate had looked so panicked when he realized the time that Steve couldn’t help but offer him the ride after they’d spent the day ripping out decaying ceiling tiles from what used to be a textile mill.

And it wasn’t like he and Darcy had any real plans.

Her smile returned in the look she shot back over her shoulder. “You old softy,” she clucked her tongue.

The diner was closed on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, so Darcy had spent her day off making meatballs and letting them simmer in rich tomato sauce all afternoon. They practically fell apart when he speared them with his fork over a plate of spaghetti later. He made a point to tell her how good they were, pleased when she beamed with pride and said he could really thank her co-worker Linda, who’d given her the recipe.

They did the dishes together—Darcy washing and him drying and putting away—before she scurried from the kitchen and into her room. She returned with two wrapped gifts by the time he’d made his way back to the living room. Steve found he was unable to help his smile as she placed them on the center couch cushion and tucked her feet beneath her. “Why do you give out presents on Christmas Eve?” he asked, tilting his head to one side.

She shrugged. “Because I’m a grownup and I can do what I want,” she reminded. “What the hell do we pay taxes for if we can’t open presents whenever we feel like it?”

“Well, technically,” he frowned, “ _we_ don’t pay taxes. Here, anyway.”

She grimaced. “Right. I was thinking about that—do you think we should start?”

Steve shook his head. “That’s…probably a lot more complicated than you’re making it sound.” He looked at her, expectantly shooting her eyes from him to the gifts and back again. “Okay,” he relented. “You want to do presents now instead of waiting until tomorrow?”

She nodded eagerly and looked confused as he started toward the hallway. “Where are you going?” she called after him.

“I didn’t forget this year,” he called back before he retrieved the two gifts he’d procured and wrapped for Darcy since Thanksgiving.

She looked genuinely surprised when he sat down on the opposite end of the couch and set his presents next to hers on the space between them. “I was just excited to give you yours,” she admitted, looking twice as giddy as before. “I didn’t think I was _getting_ anything.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Open yours first,” he suggested with a nod.

“We’ll take turns,” she countered and reached for the most obviously wrapped of the two packages. There was no disguising a record, but Darcy still seemed surprised and let out a gasp when she pulled away the paper and held Joni Mitchell’s _Blue_ album to her chest. “Joni,” she sighed. “Oh, I missed you so much.” She ripped away the remaining paper and read from the back, a track listing he knew she knew by heart. “Carey, California, A Case of You…” she looked up with a smile so bright it was almost blinding. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “It’s perfect.”

He couldn’t help but smile in response. “You’re welcome.”

“I have to put this on,” she insisted and unfolded her legs from beneath her. “Right now.” He watched in amusement as she slid a nail along the seam of the record sleeve and placed the vinyl carefully on the turntable. She dropped the needle and let out another sigh of contentment when the first strains of music floated into the apartment. “Your turn,” she said when she’d sat back down. “Although I’m not entirely sure my little offerings are going to measure up compare to having Joni back in my life.”

“I’m sure they’re great,” he promised and held a hand over one package, a crisply wrapped box and then the other, one that was less defined in its shape, its lumpiness hinting at homemade. “Any particular order?”

She bit her lip and pointed to the box. “That one first.”

She’d wrapped the gifts with the comics section again, so he didn’t worry about tearing the paper away and felt his face split into another smile when he realized she’d gifted him a box of Drano crystals. “Is this to combat all the hair you refuse to clean out of the drains?” he asked.

“It is!” she nodded. “But it’s not just a cleaning product,” she said, laying it on thick. “It’s the miracle that’s going to sustain both, our friendship _and_ our plumbing, together in one single box.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Thank you, Darcy,” he said, oddly touched by such a silly gift. “It’s the gift that keeps on giving.”

Darcy pulled the larger box in front of her crossed legs and gave it a little shake. “It’s so heavy,” she commented. “What did you get me? A rock collection?” Without waiting for an answer, she tore the paper back and eyed the plain brown box with suspicion before she took off the lid and let out a gasp. “Oh my God.” The lid clattered to the floor and Steve smiled, watching Darcy’s eyes widen as she took in the twelve different types of hot sauce he’d procured from around the city. “Steve!”

“There’s no sriracha,” he said regretfully. “Because, you’re right, it doesn’t exist yet, but—”

“But there’s so many others!” she exclaimed, holding up each bottle for closer inspection. “Green and orange and yellow—half of these aren’t even in English!” She looked up, practically radiant with excitement. “I’m so excited to try all of these.”

“Can I make a request?” he asked, holding up a hand. “Can you still save me some portions without whatever flavor of the week you’re trying?”

She grinned. “Of course I will, old man.”

“I’m not old,” he argued lightly. “It’s just…y’know…my Depression-era palate still hasn’t caught up.”

Darcy gathered the box of hot sauces onto her lap and circled her arms around it like a stuffed animal. “Last present,” she reminded, pointing to his remaining gift. “And before you open it, you actually have to like this one because I spent way too much time on it.”

Steve nodded, applauding himself on being able to spot a homemade Darcy gift by its wrapping. “I’m sure I’ll love it,” he assured her. The paper fell away to reveal a dark blue throw pillow embroidered with silver stars, red roses, and in the center in a ridiculously curly script, the words “Perfectly Disrespectful.” He barked out a loud laugh and shook his head. “This is…” he caught his breath and studied the stitching closer. So many tiny details in the flowers and the stars. “This is exactly what I asked for.”

Darcy laughed. “You have no idea what all I went through trying to make that for you.”

He set the pillow between them. “I feel like you’re going to tell me.”

“Originally, I was just going to do it myself because like, how hard could cross-stitching be? Turns out,” she answered her own question, “pretty damn, actually. There was blood loss.”

“Glad you survived,” he quipped.

“Barely. But thanks. So, then I thought, maybe I just needed a teacher, and Alice does needlepoint all the time on her breaks, so I asked her.”

He nodded. “Good idea.”

“Not really,” she shook her head. “Because I’m nearly unteachable and have absolutely no patience and I think, in an effort to keep herself from serving a life sentence for my entirely justified homicide, Alice just took over and did all of that herself in like, a week.” She sighed. “So. You actually have Alice to thank for how amazing it looks. But I did all the legwork.”

Steve felt his smile soften and he reached out to give the pillow a pat. “That…might be the most trouble anyone’s ever gone through to make me a present,” he admitted, knowing he was right as soon as he said it. “So, I think you still get most of the thanks, Darce.”

“I know it’s silly,” she added, glancing down at her lap again.

“No, it’s—” he shook his head. “I mean, yeah, it is silly but…” he waited for her to look up again. “That’s not something I’ve had a lot of chances to be.” He shrugged. “It’s a nice change.”

Darcy smiled back and nodded. “It is a nice change,” she echoed. They were quiet for a moment before she sat up straight again. “What time is it?”

He checked his watch. “Ten to seven,” he said. “Why?”

“Because we missed The Grinch on CBS last year and I refuse to miss it again,” she got to her feet and crossed to the television.

“Did you make cookies again?” Steve asked before he could stop himself.

She stopped and he heard her suck in a breath through her teeth. “I didn’t,” she admitted. “I got caught up with the meatballs and the decorating.”

“Well, I guess that’s it then,” he threw up his hands.

“Holidays ruined?” Darcy grinned over her shoulder. “Friendship over?”

He nodded. “Totally over.”

“Good, then I don’t have to share my peppermint brownies with you,” she said and turned the dial to bring the television humming to life.

Steve frowned. “Peppermint brownies?” he repeated, following her with his eyes toward the kitchen.

“You only asked about cookies, you myopic fool,” she called back over the sound of a plate scraping and a cupboard closing. She returned moments later with a plate piled high with thick brownies topped with crushed candy canes. “But in the spirit of friendship,” she set the plate down on the coffee table within his reach. “And because it’s Chrismukkah, I will share them with you.” She waited for him to take one from the stack before she picked up her own and grinned again. “Cheers,” she said and tapped her brownie to his before she took a bite.

Steve ate his brownie and let himself appreciate his friendship with Darcy a little more than usual as they sat on opposite ends of the couch, gifts and brownies between them, and let Boris Karloff tell them the story of the Grinch stealing Christmas.


	3. 1972

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Eve - 1972

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the love my sweet beebs! Glad you're enjoying this little trip down memory lane.

_Christmas Eve_

_1972_

Darcy made it almost all the way up the stairs before her ankle turned and she fell off her heels, crashing into Steve with a cascade of giggles.

“Easy,” he laughed quietly as he offered an arm so she could steady herself. “How much of you is eggnog right now?”

“Oh…” she blew air through her tingling lips. “Sixty…three percent?” Her fingers dug into his coat when she swayed a second time.

“That’s a very precise estimate for someone who can barely stand up straight,” he commented as he turned his key and pushed open the door. “Come on,” he tugged his arm so she would walk in the right direction.

“Coming,” she sang, trotting in after him. He closed the door behind them, and she leaned against it to slide out of her shoes. “That was fun, wasn’t it?”

Steve looked up once he’d dropped his keys in the dish and smiled. “Yeah, it was.”

Tangie had been inviting Darcy—and by extension, Steve—to her family’s Christmas Eve dinner party since they’d known each other, but it had never felt right to accept her invitation. Not when she was trying so hard not to get attached, to hold out hope that she’d be leaving soon. But she’d spent so much time with Tangie this year, they’d gotten to know each other so well, that it didn’t make sense to turn down the chance to spend the holidays with her new friends.

“I’m glad you came with me,” she added after she’d pushed herself away from the door to stand upright. She hadn’t expected Steve to agree to come along; although she had made plans to pester him until he did. And he might have acted like he’d gone just to humor her, but she’d seen the way he’d been able to relax at the table, surrounded by Tangie’s family, how he’d given in easily to the begging of Tangie’s younger cousins and siblings for help placing ornaments on the highest boughs of the tree.

“Me too.” Steve bent to plug in the brightly colored strings of lights she’d hung around the living room. It cast the otherwise dark room in a friendly, rainbow glow and Darcy hummed contentedly.

“I…need to sit down,” she stated when the room titled just a little further to the right than usual.

He shook his head and held out a hand to balance her on her way to the couch. “That’s probably a good idea.”

They sat down together. “Oof,” she dropped her head onto his shoulder. “Maybe too much eggnog.”

He laughed again and patted the arm she had looped through his. “You’re okay,” he assured her. “It’s not like you’ve got anywhere to be tomorrow.”

“That’s right,” she agreed, satisfied to stay still for a moment before she frowned. “Wait, it’s Christmas Eve.” She struggled to sit up and get to her feet, but Steve’s hand wrapped around her elbow and pulled back down. “Hey…”

“We can do presents in the morning, Darce,” he reminded. “It’s late.”

She could have struggled, insisted, but she was just on the other side of tipsy and it was much too inviting to sit back on the couch and curl her feet up beneath her, look at the lights and lean her weight against Steve. “Okay,” she sighed. “Good idea. But,” she looked up and smiled. “Can we at least put on some Christmas music?”

He mirrored her smile. “Who do you want? Ella, Dean, or the Jackson 5?”

“Mmm,” she hummed again. “Secular Ella please.” Her eyelids had started to get heavy by the time he sat back down with Ella Fitzgerald’s rendition of ‘Jingle Bells’ filling the apartment. She slipped her arm under his again and curled herself against him. “We should have pancakes with presents tomorrow morning.”

Steve rested his feet on the bottom shelf of the coffee table and nodded. “Sounds good.” He glanced over and smiled at the top of her head. “You should go to bed.”

“But that’s all the way in there,” she waved a heavy arm in the direction of the hallway. “I’m good here.”

"And what am I supposed to do? Sit out here all night to be your pillow?" 

"Yes."

He moved his shoulder. “My arm’s gonna fall asleep.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“You’re kind of demanding when you’re drunk,” Steve commented, sounding amused.

“I’ve heard that,” she said around a yawn. “I’m cuddly, too.”

Steve tried in vain to move his arm again. “You don’t say.”

She turned her face to press the tip of her nose to his sweater and inhaled the mix of cologne and pine. She let out another little hum of contentment. “You smell like a Christmas tree,” she said with a smile.

He chuckled. “Well, you smell like eggnog.”

She snorted a laugh. “Tell me a story.”

“Darcy,” Steve scoffed. “I don’t know any stories.”

She pawed lightly at his side. “You _do_.”

He sighed. “What kind of story?”

“Tell me a Captain America story,” she muttered, burrowing deeper into the couch to rest her head more fully on his arm. She poked him when he didn’t respond. “Something about the Howling Commandos and Hydra and—hey,” she cut herself off. “I just thought of something.”

“What?”

“Why didn’t their logo match their name?”

Steve looked over at her again with another frown. “Whose name?”

“Hydra,” she said. “I remember seeing the logo in my history classes.”

“It…matches,” he answered slowly, uncertainly, before he added, "And I don't know that it's necessarily a _logo_ so much as a seal...or a crest, maybe?" 

Darcy squinted up at him with one eye more open than the other. "Are you seriously going to Captain Semantics me on this?" 

He smiled. "It's just, you say logo and I think...I don't know, Coke or Mobile or something."

"Right," Darcy lay her head back down. "Because those companies ran effective marketing campaigns and your brain associated the things they want with their colors and illustrations..."

She heard him chuckle. "I can't believe this is this conversation you want to have right now."

"I wouldn't," she said, a half-smile coming to her own lips. "If they hadn't totally screwed up by not understanding what a hydra was before they went to print on all their evil collateral."

"Evil collateral," Steve repeated under his breath. "Are you sure they didn't just pick the hydra in its original state?" 

“Nope. A hydra is a Greek monster—Hercules fought one in the Disney movie that I’ve seen a hundred times,” she added before he could question her. “It has a bunch of heads—at least three—and only one set of legs.”

“Right, but that’s Hydra’s thing. Cut off one head and two more will take its place.”

“Yeah, I know. But their symbol thing is just one head and a bunch of,” she wiggled the fingers on both hands, “squiggly legs. It's the legs that are the issue. Total octopus."

“Huh. I guess I never…”

There was a pause from above her and she motioned to the open sketchpad on the table. “Give me that.”

Another sigh before Steve leaned forward and pulled the book onto his lap. “Do you want me to draw the Hydra seal?” he asked, another smile in his voice when she reached clumsily for the pencil at the seam of the book. “Because I’m pretty sure you’re too drunk to feel your fingers right now.”

She clapped her fingers together like castanets. He was right. “Just like…half of them,” she lied. He picked up the pencil and had just sketched the curved line when Darcy put her hand over his. “Wait,” she bit her lip and looked up with a frown. “I’m sorry,” she shook her head. “I shouldn’t make you draw this. These people tried to kill you like a hundred times—”

“And kind of succeeded once,” he added with a half-smile.

Her frown deepened. Even tipsy as she was, she didn’t want to think about Steve’s frequent, myriad brushes with death. “Don’t put them in your sketchbook,” she said softly. “But we can agree that their marketing team fucked up, right? It’s definitely an octopus—not a hydra.”

“Definitely an octopus,” he echoed.

She felt herself mirror the smile that had spread slowly across his face. “What are you smiling at?” she asked, realizing she hadn’t taken her hand from his.

Steve shook his head. “You know, in all the weird years of my very weird life, I’ve never met anyone like you.”

She smiled wider. “Until you did.”

“Until I did.”

"And now you're stuck with me."

"There are worse places to be stuck."

Darcy curled her fingers around his hand and stretched up to brush her lips to his cheek. “Merry Christmas, Steve,” she whispered when she pulled away.

“Merry Christmas,” he squeezed her hand in response and laughed softly as she used him for leverage and stumbled gracelessly to her feet. “Sleep well.”

“Mmm,” she nodded, distractedly readjusting her skirt from where it had twisted when she’d sat down. “Don’t stay up too late,” she warned, pointing a finger at him. “Presents and pancakes in the morning.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

She wiggled her fingers at him and retreated to her room with a head that was fuzzy in an all-too pleasant way that had nothing to do with the eggnog


	4. 1973

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1973

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was such a fun little fic to write and look back at our beebs going from strangers to lovers. I'm so glad you all have enjoyed it and left such utter sweetness with each segment.
> 
> This particular segment is entirely because of a comment left by the wonderful biblioworm on an earlier fic. Thank you my sweet! 
> 
> You all have completely brightened my December. Thank you.

_Christmas Eve_

_1973_

Steve’s fingers brushed lightly against her shoulder and he gave her a gentle shake. “Are you asleep?”

From where she was cuddled against him, Darcy shook her head. “Nope,” she said, sounding mostly awake. She tilted her face up to his for a kiss. “Were you asleep?”

He shook his head; his nose bumped hers. “No,” he smiled. “But I’d be willing to go to bed if you wanted to.”

They’d left Tangie’s party a little earlier than the previous year. Partly because Darcy had been working double shifts at the hospital to cover someone else’s vacation and was worn out by the time December 24th had rolled around; and partly because Steve wanted to spend some time alone with her, even if all they did was sit on the couch in more comfortable clothes and listen to The Beach Boys Christmas album under the lights.

Which was exactly what they’d done. Making their way through the Tupperware container of cookies with which Tangie’s mother had sent them home, Darcy slowly growing heavier and heavier against his chest.

“What time is it?” she asked before she automatically reached for his wrist to squint at his watch in the dark. “Does that say eleven?”

He glanced down. “Yeah—ten after.”

She looked up again. “Presents tonight or tomorrow?”

“Let’s wait ‘til tomorrow,” he suggested, mostly because he didn’t want to move to unearth her gifts from where he’d hidden them in the hall closet.

Darcy nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Then let’s go to bed.”

Steve mirrored her nod and smiled. “You have to let me up for that to happen.”

She stretched her neck again and dropped a quick kiss to his lips before she got to her feet and held her hands out to pull him up with her. They turned off the turntable and unplugged the lights and climbed together into the bed that used to be just his, in the room that used to be just Darcy’s. She burrowed beneath the blankets and looked at him in confusion when he didn’t shut off the light. “What’s up?”

“Actually,” he paused. “I do have one thing that I want you to open tonight.”

Her brow furrowed. “What thing?”

He reached into the drawer of his bedside table. “It’s nothing big, but—” he warned as he removed the one gift he hadn’t hidden and handed it to her as she sat up. “Happy Chrismukkah.”

Without waiting to see what it was, Darcy leaned over and kissed him, breaking away to smile against his lips. “Thank you.” She tore the paper at one end and gave a loud, dramatic gasp that dissolved into giggles as she clutched the ugliest pair of slipper-socks he could find at the department store to her chest. Offensively bright stripes of pink and orange with a thin band of yellow faux fur at the top. Even the salesgirl had asked if he was _sure_ this was the pair he wanted to buy when she’d rung him up. “They’re so awful!” she exclaimed with glee. “I love them.”

Laughing, Steve accepted a second kiss before she kicked back the covers to slip them on her bare feet. “I meant to give them to you last week,” he said, watching as she wiggled her toes beneath the thick fabric. It was another true Chrismukkah year, with Hanukkah having started on the 19th.

She shook her head. “No, I was too tired last week; I wouldn’t have been able to summon the correct amount of excitement that these monstrosities deserve.” Her hand fell to his cheek and she pulled him in for another kiss.

His arms wrapped around her easily. “I almost can’t hear you over how loud they are.”

Darcy’s giggle scrunched her nose as she shifted to hitch her leg across his hips. He pulled her the rest of the way, so she was straddling his lap, her arms wound around his neck. “Thank you,” she said again. “I love you.”

“I love _you_ ,” he countered, unable to help but break their next kiss with a smile when he felt her wriggle closer. “I thought you said you were tired,” he reminded, not complaining when her nails dragged over his shoulders and down to slip beneath his t-shirt.

She shook her head. “I never said I was tired,” she teased the hem of his shirt, pulling it up an inch before she let it drop again. “I only said I wanted to go to bed.”

“Mmm,” he hummed his understanding and pulled back far enough to give her space to rid him of his top layer. “That’ll teach me to pay attention.”

“I just hate that couch.”

“Me too,” he said against her lips.

“We should get a new one,” she said and raked her nails over his shoulders and back.

“Sure,” he kissed her neck and pulled her earlobe between his teeth, pleased when she let out a sound that was more of a purr than anything else. “Whatever you want.”

Darcy grinned as she pulled the most recent of the t-shirts that she’d stolen from him over her head and sank back into him with another kiss. She pressed herself into his hands eagerly and inhaled sharply when he rolled her hardened nipples between his fingers. “I really do love my slipper socks,” she assured him, kissing him every few words.

“It seems like it,” he joked when he felt her hands slip between them, pulling at the drawstring of his pajama pants.

“I’m just making sure you know,” she lifted up onto her knees and palmed his erection through his thin remaining layers. “Because they’re not staying on.” He lifted his hips and let her shove his pants and boxers down to his knees where he could kick them away.

He reached for her face and pulled her lips back down to his. “I’m begging you to take them off,” he breathed around a groan when she gripped his cock and slid her hand up and down in a slow rhythm.

He felt her smile. “I like it when you beg,” she said and nipped playfully at his bottom lip.

His hands spanned her back as he wrapped his arms around her. His lips left hers and dropped a trail of kisses over her face and down to her neck. “ _Please_ ,” he pressed the word into the spot where her neck met her shoulder. “Take those ugly fucking things off.”

She giggled again like he’d tickled her and reached back to pull them off her feet. The arch of her back was too inviting; Steve took the opportunity to seal his lips around one of her nipples, sucking it into his mouth, enjoying the sound of surprise that fell into a moan she tried to muffle between her lips. He repeated his attention on the other side as he slipped his hand beneath the waistband of her flannel pants and found her warm and wet between her thighs.

Darcy threw her socks off the bed and slid her fingers up into his hair. He dipped his fingers into the arousal pooling at her center and circled her clit while his tongue worked at her nipple. She ground her hips down onto his hand, as she reached to stroke him again. He kissed his way up her chest and throat again, meeting her lips in a wet, desperate kiss that was mostly tongue and groans of pleasure.

“More,” she murmured, shifting to open her legs wider for him. He sank two fingers in to the knuckle and crooked them against the spot that made her cry out, bucking harder against him. Her nails scraped and dug into his back and she let out another squeal when his thumb brushed her clit again. He pumped his fingers and pressed down harder, pulling back to watch Darcy when she dropped her forehead to his. Her eyes closed, cheeks flushed, her bottom lip between her teeth.

The fingers of his other hand slid into her hair and coaxed her down for another kiss. “You’re so beautiful,” he said in a rough whisper before he pulled his hand from between her thighs and the moan she’d been biting back fell from her lips in a cry of frustration.

“Steve—”

The way she whined his name cut straight through him and it took all his self-control to push her back so he could slide her pajamas down her legs instead of tearing them off. She scrambled back into his lap; her nails dug into his shoulders and he drew in a sharp breath as she sank down onto him, inch by inch until he was fully seated inside her. Surrounded by her tight warmth, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close; burying his face in her neck, he breathed in the familiar scent of her skin and pressed kisses to the column of her throat and the tops of her shoulders.

Darcy rocked her hips, wriggling impatiently. “Please,” she sighed when he slid his hand to the small of her back and pushed her closer, keeping her in place while he rolled his hips to meet her movements. “Steve,” she whispered, sliding her hands back into his hair to keep her forehead pinned to his. “Steve, I’m so—”

“I know,” he said in a hushed breath as his hand moved between them, seeking her clit again as she moved faster, sliding against his cock in a rough, almost impatient rhythm. She smothered another moan between her lips when he circled it with his thumb. “Let go,” he said when her breath grew short and the rocking of her hips against his hand grew more frantic. “I got you, Darcy,” he reminded, sliding his other hand up her back to hold the back of her neck. “Just let go.”

He felt her muscles tense and clench around him; he kept his fingers working against her, reveling in the breathy moans he was pulling from her with each roll of his own hips. He kissed her open mouth again, pulling her down harder onto him again and again, chasing his own release. She scraped her nails over his skin again and he felt lightheaded. No matter how many times they did this, there was always a part of him that could scarcely believe it. That he was buried so deep inside Darcy—his Darcy. That it was his fingers that were making her come apart. His neck she was breathing into, moaning against. His name on her lips.

She kissed him again, hard and desperate and he felt everything in him tighten the moment before his rhythm faltered and he came with a muffled cry against her lips. He kept moving, slowing his thrusts as he spilled into her until he was spent. Darcy’s chest rose and fell hard with her heavy breathing; Steve buried his face in her neck again, kissing the space below her ear, feeling the thrum of her pulse beneath his lips.

She was slow to move off him, dropping one last kiss to his lips before she got up and made her way to the bathroom. She was back a few minutes later, looking a little drunk as she smiled sleepily and picked up his shirt from where he’d tossed it on the floor. Her hair fell into her face after she’d pulled it on and bent down again.

Steve grinned as she picked up her slipper socks and slipped them back onto her feet before she climbed into bed beside him. “Okay,” she sighed, sinking down into her pillow and pulled the sheets and blankets up around them. “Now I’m sleepy.”

He reached over and shut off the light, sliding down to lay on his back so Darcy could wrap herself around him and rest her cheek on his chest. “So, slipper socks,” he said with a smile aimed toward the top of her head. “Didn’t think they’d be such a hit.”

She turned her head to kiss the center of his chest. “I wanted to make sure you appreciated my excitement at owning the ugliest things in the state of California.”

“Excitement is appreciated and noted for next year,” he assured her.

She made a little sound of contentment when his fingers idly ran through her hair. “Maybe we could go somewhere else for Christmas next year,” she said softly.

He smiled again. “What? Like a vacation?”

Her nails stilled from their lazy trail down his stomach. “I’ve heard people take those sometimes.”

“I’ve never had a vacation,” he said, realizing as he said it out loud how pathetically true that was. “Where do you want to go?”

Her shoulder moved. “Maybe somewhere with snow…or the beach. I like the beach. It doesn’t matter,” she added. “As long as we keep doing this.”

He didn’t know if she could tell she’d made his breath catch in his throat with her simple request. Just like he didn’t know how to tell her that he had no intention of them ever stopping _this_. That _this_ was the best and closest to complete he’d ever felt in his life. That he wanted whatever she wanted as long as they could stay together.

“I was thinking we should have French toast,” she said after she’d yawned and snuggled in closer. Either completely unaware of the effect she had on him or letting him off the hook until he found a way to articulate his feelings. “After we open presents tomorrow.”

Doing his best to keep the rest of himself still, Steve reached blindly over to his bedside table and groped for his watch. He held it up and squinted at the face in the dark. “You mean after we open presents today,” he said before he placed it back on the table.

Darcy shifted and pushed herself up on her arm to look at him. “It’s after midnight?”

He nodded. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he said softly, pulling her back down for a long, slow kiss.

She pulled back first and brushed her nose with his. “Merry Christmas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love you guys. Merry and happy and all the good things to everyone who has read this series this year. 
> 
> *kisses*

**Author's Note:**

> <3 
> 
> Hope you liked it!
> 
> Come play with me on tumblr: @idontgettechnology and join me at ishipitpod.com for weekly podcast on fandom and fanfic by yours truly.
> 
> *kisses*


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